


The Five Guys Eames Has Had In His Ass and the One Who Belonged There

by kyrene



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Unrepentant crack, mention of dub-con/non-con, mention of incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-17
Updated: 2011-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-19 12:24:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrene/pseuds/kyrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow Eames manages to take control of a simple conversation about a job and steers it in a direction that couldn't fail to traumatize Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Five Guys Eames Has Had In His Ass and the One Who Belonged There

**Author's Note:**

> This is crack but not completely humorous (see the tags for fair warning). Further proof, if more were needed, that I'm a very very bad person.

In the small but international world of those who worked in the dream-share, there was one person, one particular point man, with a reputation for being unflappable, always collected, virtually impossible to rattle.

Of course, even such a staunch individual had his breaking points. It was Arthur's misfortune that one specific forger had seemingly made it his life's work to find and exploit said breaking points. There was one man above all others who had both the ability and desire to cause Arthur to lose his cool.

It wasn't as though it was easy for him to avoid Eames, either. They were two of the best in their respective fields, and when there was need for both a precise, perfect point man and a brilliant, intuitive forger... well, there they were.

It didn't help that they routinely ended up in bed together, on the occasions that they worked the same jobs. It wasn't very professional, but it was just another example of how Eames was able to affect Arthur in ways no one else could manage.

Arthur was, in fact, more than a little disturbed by the ease with which Eames managed to seduce him on a regular basis. It would have been bad enough if it had ended there, but Eames seemed to have a knack for saying and doing things that made Arthur choke or exclaim.

For a point man who had a reputation for level-headed behavior, this was not a good thing.

Take today, for instance. They were talking about their current job. The fact of the matter was that they were doing so alone in their hotel room, Eames in his underwear and Arthur in nothing but a pair of trousers and a white button-up shirt. Because that was the sort of situation Arthur found himself in when Eames was involved.

He had said something perfectly reasonable and innocuous about Eames and the mark. It certainly had not been lecherous, and it had been _Eames'_ idea to use his considerable wiles to aid him in extracting the information they were after.

Of course, it was Eames he was talking to and so the conversation had only devolved from there.

"Honestly, Arthur," Eames had pouted at him from where he was lounging on the bed they had gone a good way toward destroying in the last twelve hours. He really looked ridiculous and not incredibly attractive at all, with his plum colored boxers and those tattoos, the muscles, the hickeys, the messy hair, and his fat red lips surrounded by scruffy stubble.....

"What was that?" Arthur asked, hating that he had to ask Eames to repeat himself, but he seemed to have lost his focus on their discussion for a moment. Yet another example of the insidious effect that Eames had on him.

"I said," Eames said, in a longsuffering tone, even though his obscene mouth was stretched in a wide smirk, "That I'm not some high class hooker for rent. I am an _artist_."

Arthur didn't mean to snort, really he didn't. But once he had, he had to follow it up, because one didn't simply mock a man who was accusing one of comparing him to a prostitute. No, in this case, one said something even more offensive.

"Oh, please, Eames. You can't tell me you haven't bent over in the course of a job before."

Eames narrowed his eyes at Arthur, and Arthur had to admit that he was more than a little appalled by what his hindbrain had evidently come up with. That had been-- Wow. If anyone had spoken that way to him, or even to Eames in his presence, Arthur was pretty sure he would have punched them in the face. So why did his traitorous tongue seem to think that it was all right for him to say something like that to Eames, no matter how he was asking for it?

"I will let that go, Arthur," Eames said magnanimously, not moving from where he was lounging on the bed, "Because I'm chalking it up to jealousy, and in a perverse way I am flattered. But I'll have you know that I am by no stretch of the imagination the man-whore that you seem to want to believe I am."

"I didn't mean--" Arthur attempted, but Eames interrupted with an airy wave of his hand.

"Yes, you did. Don't try and deny it. The fact of the matter, though, is that I can count the number of men who have been inside my ass on the fingers of one hand."

Arthur was frankly a little shocked by Eames' blunt language, even though he knew that by now he shouldn't be. And at the same time he couldn't help but be morbidly curious. He'd suspected that they were both being a little more monogamous than either would care to admit, but what Eames was saying wasn't necessarily proof of that. After all, he could be having sex with women or topping with other men.

When Arthur didn't respond immediately, Eames paused and pursed his lips, counting on his fingers even though he ought to have been able to count up to five in his head. "Excluding you, that is, darling Arthur," he added smoothly, with a wide grin. "Much though I should not like you to feel excluded."

Somehow, as it ever did when Eames was involved, the conversation was veering rapidly out of Arthur's control. And, God, how he hated that.

"I don't feel-- Eames!"

"Yes?"

And it had to be natural talent, the way Eames was able to lay there grinning at him, crooked front teeth on display, wearing only a pair of boxers, talking about _men who had been inside his ass_ , and making Arthur feel as though _he_ was being the unreasonable one here.

Arthur sighed and flopped down on the edge of the bed in defeat. "I absolutely did not call you a man-whore," he felt it was important to clarify.

"Of course you didn't," Eames purred, and suddenly he was a wall of warmth and masculine scent, pressing up against Arthur's back, his arms coming around to encircle Arthur's waist, his breath hot and wet against Arthur's ear and neck. He fought to restrain a shiver of response and was completely unsuccessful. "You only implied it."

Arthur growled and tried to elbow Eames in the ribs, but the other man had him pretty well hemmed in. He could have broken Eames' grip, but that would have involved doing Eames some damage, and then Eames would have damaged him in return, and then they'd both have had to show up at the meeting the next day with bruises that would not be the slightest bit professional. Arthur knew this, because it had happened before. He didn't intend for it to happen tonight.

"Admit it, love," Eames whispered in his ear, following this cryptic utterance up with a skilled curl of his tongue that definitely had Arthur shuddering in reaction.

"Admit what?" he asked in credibly even tones, despite the fact that his body was betraying him.

"You're curious. Wildly curious, one might say," Eames murmured, pressing a wet kiss to the pulse thudding in the line of his neck.

"Please don't assign emotional responses to me," Arthur snapped, knowing this request would be ignored, as it had been in times past; many times in the past.

Eames chuckled, a deep, dark, sensual sound that had all the hairs on Arthur's body standing up. In sexual response or in fight-or-flight, he wasn't sure. Eames so often engendered both from him at once.

"You just want to brag," Arthur accused, the words coming out a little more breathlessly and less accusatively than he'd been shooting for.

"Hardly that."

Suddenly his back was chilled as Eames vanished. He turned to find Eames falling back against the pillows, his gaze dark and shuttered. He looked serious now, no longer teasing, and Arthur was thrown by this change in mood more than he cared to admit to himself.

"The first one," Eames said, raising his gaze to the ceiling, lacing his hands behind his head, "Was Uncle Charlie."

"What?!" Arthur squawked before he knew.

Eames glanced down at him and gave him a smile that looked real. "Now, now," he drawled. "It wasn't any of Mum's boyfriends. It was her younger brother."

Arthur's mouth worked for several seconds before he could get any words out. "Oh, because _incestuous_ molestation is so much better than the usual kind!"

Both he and Eames winced at this, and Arthur didn't regret his words, but he thought they both kind of hated that there was such a thing as "usual" molestation.

Eames recovered first and gave a shrug. "I was fifteen," he said, as though that was going to make it better. "Only a year under the age of consent."

Arthur gave in to the urge to roll his eyes roundly. "Still illegal. And I'm pretty sure nonconsensual incest is illegal no matter the ages of those involved!"

Eames frowned at him. "It was fairly consensual," he argued. "Mum's brother was a looker and I was curious."

Arthur was pretty sure his expression made his opinion on this clearly known.

Eames heaved a tremendous sigh. "Never mind, then."

"Do I want to know about the others?" Arthur ventured, because he really did, but he kind of didn't, at the same time. But not knowing would be worse, right?

"Probably not," Eames replied frankly. "But could you bear for me to _not_ tell you?"

Arthur scowled. There Eames went, reading his mind again. He really hated when the man did that.

"The next one was the Headmaster at my boarding school," Eames said, with a sheepish grin. "Sorry, it's not much better."

Arthur resisted the urge to pinch at the bridge of his nose, where a tension headache was threatening to form. "Tell me you didn't seduce him?"

"I didn't."

Arthur blinked, then stared at Eames, processing this. "That's... actually a lot worse."

Eames shrugged, and he looked a lot less playful than he had done minutes before. "It wasn't a highlight of my sexual development, to be certain."

Arthur experienced the overwhelming desire to grab at the teenaged Eames, hold him close and protect him from the selfish, asshole _predators_ that he'd been exposed to... but it was a good sixteen or seventeen years too late for that.

"He never did give me any prep," Eames continued, his gaze distant, and Arthur really, really didn't need to know this, and yet he couldn't tell Eames to shut up, not if he was willing to share. "I started doing it myself, in my room. So, naturally, when my roommate walked in and caught me, he demanded a piece of that."

"Naturally," Arthur said through numb lips, even though there was nothing natural about it; not about what Eames' headmaster had done, and not about what his roommate had wanted.

"Of course, he denounced me as a faggot to the entirety of the school the very next day," Eames growled, and he seemed more put out than traumatized by the memory. "Stupid bastard, it wasn't as though _I_ would have said anything. Completely unnecessary boorishness on his part."

"What happened then?" Arthur had to ask. Specificity was key, even when he didn't want to be hearing this. He needed to know the entirety of the story.

"Oh. Well, then the Headmaster conveniently expelled me for something I may or may not have done," Eames said, and he sounded cheerful, the creep. As though this barely mattered, as though it hadn't been a horrible time for his teenaged self. Arthur wanted to hate him for his nonchalance, but mostly he felt the need to hug him, hard. "Really, it was for a best."

"I'll say," Arthur snarled, and he could feel his nails digging blunt and hard into the meat of his palms. "You should have brought charges against him."

"No one would have taken my word over his," Eames said dismissively, and he was so convincing in his easiness that Arthur almost bought the image he was projecting, that he wasn't affected by his past. _Almost_. "I did get his wife a subtle heads-up, though. Don't know if she ever followed up on it, but one would hope."

"I'm afraid to ask about the next one," Arthur wasn't ashamed to admit.

Eames grinned at him, his expression lightening, and there was a spark in his eyes that Arthur had learned to be very afraid of. With good reason, it would seem. "That would be Dominic Cobb."

Arthur hadn't heard that right. There was absolutely no way he had heard that right. Because there was no possible way that Eames had... had....

" _WHAT?!_ "

If anything, Eames grin widened, and Arthur had to resist the urge to punch him in the mouth, right in those charmingly crooked front teeth. "Well, it was before he'd met or married Mal, of course. What kind of bounder do you take me for?"

"I-- I don't--" Arthur was completely speechless. This wasn't the first time Eames had rendered him so, but it was possibly the _worst_ time. "How is that even-- No! Just, no!"

Eames scoffed. "Come now, Arthur. Can you sit there and honestly tell me that you've never slept with Cobb?"

Arthur looked him dead in the eye and spoke the truth. "I have _never_ slept with Cobb." He said these words firmly and with the pure conviction of the indisputable truth, so that there could be no confusion.

Eames blinked. "Huh. Really? Well, bugger me. I owe Mary-Beth fifty bucks."

"I have never even _thought_ about sleeping with Cobb," Arthur felt the need to emphasize, just so there would be absolutely no doubt. "I would _never_ sleep with Cobb! In fact the very idea is--"

"Hush, love," Eames interrupted, sitting up and reaching forward to place a broad but graceful hand over Arthur's mouth, cutting him off and making him aware that he was beginning to sound more than a little hysterical. "I believe you. And I am relieved, while perhaps being a tad offended on Cobb's behalf. Mainly because you're impugning my taste in men, of course."

"I...." Arthur shook his head. "I can't even deal with this right now. Can we pretend this part of the conversation never happened?"

"Fair enough," Eames said easily, grinning at him again.

"I don't know why you're even telling me all this," Arthur complained, knowing that he was slouching, but unable to sit up straight. Dealing with Eames made him so unutterably weary something. "Eames, why are you telling me this?"

"Because once I gave you a number, you wouldn't have stopped until you'd dug it all up," Eames answered, reaching and closing one hand around Arthur's wrist, not trying to draw him in, just holding it lightly. "I'd rather you spent that time lavishing attention on me."

Arthur sighed, fighting back a smile. Eames was not charming, dammit. He wasn't. "And the fifth one?"

"What?" Eames blinked at him as though he was dense, as though he could possibly have lost his place in this crazy conversation.

Arthur growled. "You've counted off four, excluding me. Who was the other? You can't leave it here, Eames. Like you said."

 _Please, God, let it not be Yusuf,_ Arthur thought to himself, though to be fair, he'd never thought that Eames and Yusuf had that sort of relationship. Besides, he was pretty sure Yusuf was straight.

After an extended moment of silence, Eames licked his lips and turned his gaze away from Arthur. "You know, darling, I don't think I shall tell you. That is not a part of this tale."

Arthur glared scathingly. Unfortunately, most of the effect was lost because Eames refused to meet his eyes. "That's not exactly fair, Eames," he said as evenly as he could.

Eames' dark grey eyes flickered in his direction. "Hey, I didn't have to tell you about _any_ of them, Arthur," he protested. "Even a man-whore is allowed his one secret-- oof!"

Whatever else he might have been going to say was cut off as Arthur pounced on top of him. He pinned Eames against the mattress, glaring down at him. Eames grinned delightedly up at him, completely unrepentant over having nearly broken Arthur's brain, pleased to have driven him to physically reacting.

"Tell me, then," Arthur growled fiercely. "One thing, and I won't press for more. Is it a good memory, or bad?"

"Yes," Eames replied promptly, and his smile was still in place, but his eyes were dark and serious.

"Mm." Arthur stared intently down at Eames, letting him stew for long moments before he spoke. "Eames," he finally said gently. "I already know about Trenton."

Arthur was the best for good reason, and while he didn't know all the details, he knew about that particular point in Eames' life. No one had been sure whether Eames and Trenton Wood had been sleeping together before Trenton's death, but Arthur didn't think he was making too great a leap in intuition. It was an educated guess, but he was pretty sure he was right.

"Oh." Eames' lips formed a fat circle, and he actually looked startled for a moment. "Well, then."

"It's just as well," Arthur said, congratulating himself silently on guessing correctly, grinding his hips down into Eames', both of them very obviously reacting to the closeness and friction. "If the last image you planted in my head was of Cobb fucking you, I don't think I could ever have gotten an erection again."

"We wouldn't want that," Eames purred, his arms snaking up to wrap around Arthur's neck. Anything else he might have said was lost as Arthur pressed forward to claim his mouth in an almost violent kiss.

Okay, so maybe he was feeling a little possessive, considering the way that this bizarre conversation had gone. But Eames' ass belonged to him now, and no other man was going to get inside it. Ever.

"Of course not, darling. It's all yours," Eames murmured against his lips, and Arthur might have said some of that last aloud. In fact, he had definitely done so.

In order to keep Eames from getting too smug, as well as in a bid to stake his claim, he flipped Eames on the mattress, pulled down his plum boxers, and set about making certain he knew who his fine, firm, delicious ass belonged to.

As much as Eames drove him crazy, the sex was always magnificent, and once it was over, the two of them collapsed in a tangle of lax arms and legs, heavy breaths gusting over seat-dewed skin.

As they lay thusly entangled, a dire suspicion raised itself in Arthur's head. "Was any of that true, Eames?" he asked hoarsely.

Eames stretched, humming a contented little sound, and nuzzled at the curve of Arthur's shoulder. "Every word of it, Arthur."

"I'm not sure that I can believe you," Arthur pursued. Eames had lied to him in the past, after all. More than a few times.

"I suppose that's your prerogative," Eames sighed, but he sounded sleepy and complacent, not put out. His fingers moved restlessly over Arthur's chest, even though the rest of him was completely limp and sated. "I make it a point never to lie about sex," Eames continued. "Everything else.... Well, everything else is fair game. But never about sex."

"Mm." Arthur gave that a moment's consideration. He'd be able to use that at some point in the future, he was sure of it, even if nothing occurred to him immediately. That was, of course, if Eames wasn't lying to him about telling the truth. But something in Arthur wanted to believe. He thought that this once, Eames just might be being honest.

"I'm sorry your first four men were such duds," he said, putting it mildly, considering his feelings about most of them, considering that Eames had slept with _Cobb_. "And I'm very sorry about what happened to Trenton." That was a tragedy that was in the past but which probably still resonated for Eames.

"Shit happens," Eames said philosophically. "It's all worked to bring me here, yeah?"

"Your ass belongs to me now, you know," Arthur said. "Just in case I haven't made that clear."

He could feel Eames' smile against his neck. "Of course it does, darling," he murmured, and Arthur smiled himself as one of Eames' hands snuck down and clasped warm and heavy over one of his own ass cheeks. "As yours belongs to me."

Arthur responded to the sudden tension in Eames' body more than his matter-of-fact tone. "It does." Because the time for stubborn denial was past.

Then, because Eames had thrown him for quite a few loops this evening, and completely derailed the conversation from the job they were working together, he added, "Four."

"Four?" Eames pulled away and gave him a sharp look.

Arthur grinned in a way that he could only label as mischievous. "You only get the number, Mr. Eames. The rest of it, you're going to have to work for."

Eames glowered. "Sometimes, Arthur, I really hate you."

"Trust me," Arthur said, pulling Eames in for a passionate kiss, "The feeling is entirely mutual."

[end]

**Author's Note:**

>   
> 
> 
> Gorgeous banner by Too Rational!


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